And right in the middle of that hell, a woman came out of the kitchen.
She wasn’t wearing a dress. She wasn’t wearing diamonds.
Only the black uniform of the service. Light blonde hair loose over the shoulders. Steady green eyes, without trembling.
Claire Sullivan.
Twenty-seven years old. Widow. Single mother of a six-year-old girl with a congenital heart condition. A woman who once slept in her car with her daughter, who begged on her knees in a hospital for a miracle… and who on a rainy night almost let it all end.
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